


count your blessings instead of sheep

by annamorris



Category: The Haunting of Bly Manor (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Damie Secret Santa, F/F, First Christmas, Fluff, I believe this is what they call, Vermont, White Christmas, but I also don't really care, how many White Christmas/Irving Berlin references can I fit into one fic, there's no way this is going to be the only fic like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28320033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annamorris/pseuds/annamorris
Summary: In which Dani takes Jamie'sWhite Christmascomment a bit too seriously. (But Jamie's absolutely not complaining.)
Relationships: Dani Clayton/Jamie
Comments: 15
Kudos: 82





	count your blessings instead of sheep

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Secret Santa gift for @satelitesprite on Tumblr! Thank you to @damiesecretsanta for organizing. I hope you like it :)
> 
> ***  
> Un-beta'd, so all mistakes are my own.

One day at a time, they’d said. Jamie had looked at her so earnestly, spoken with such conviction, as if by sheer force of will she would bend the world, stacked so vehemently against them, to her whims. And, Dani supposes, she may as well have succeeded. They’re still here, after all. Still together. Still alive. 

Jamie had said something else, too, that same day. A confession she’d admitted almost shamefully. A film about honoring memories and protecting what matters. A sight she’d like to see. 

Dani gets to thinking, planning, scheming, if one could call it that. She makes a silent promise, to Jamie and then herself. 

If they make it until December, Vermont is as good a place to spend the holidays as anywhere, she thinks. 

***  
Dani can’t seem to stop moving. The cuticle on her thumb is raw and bitten; her legs, one crossed over the other, bounce, bumping the tray table in front of her on occasion and nearly sending her drink toppling into her lap. She all but leaps out of her seat when Jamie places a hand on her knee.

“Easy, there,” Jamie raises an eyebrow. “Tremble any more and you’ll disrupt radio frequencies.” 

It’s a weak attempt at humor, but Dani appreciates it nonetheless. The little notebook in her breast pocket burns a hole in her blouse, stuffed full of ideas and anticipatory hope. 

“Might be able to help if you told me where we’re headed.” 

She’s been trying for weeks to nose her way into Dani’s plans, to glean some inkling of direction since Dani first hinted, one quiet evening in early November, that _maybe thinking about Christmas isn’t such a bad idea._

 _“Yeah?”_ Jamie had said, soft, not quite believing. The future, their future, had been a taboo topic, danced around like an active bomb. 

_“Yeah,”_ Dani confirmed, _“trust me?”_

_“‘Course.”_

Then it had been library visits and guidebooks and scribbling telephone numbers on lined pages and _Jamie-don’t-you-dare-open-that-box._

Dani rocks with the gentle movement of the train beneath her as it rounds a bend in the tracks. 

“Whatever happened to the fun of not knowing?” Dani tries for a tease but falls somewhere just short of playground wedding jitters. A little confused and perhaps regretting her choices. She clears her throat. “I just,” she sighs, “I want you to have a good time.”

Jamie scoffs. “Ah, well, you know how difficult I am to please. Such high standards and all.” She gestures to the tray table between them, littered with snack-sized pretzel packets and a can of seltzer to share.

Dani rolls her eyes. “The picture of refinement.” Jamie pops her shirt collar with a huff and a wry smile that earn her a playful kick to the shin, and she pouts. “Still not telling you.”

Jamie retracts her lower lip, her ploy failed. “Should’ve known I wouldn’t get you to crack on the last day. A steel trap, you are.”

Dani snorts at the obvious exaggeration. They both know just a lingering stare from Jamie has her weak at the knees. 

She can’t say she’s complaining. 

On the subject of their trip, though, she has managed to keep impressively silent, offering only such vague clues as, “Thoughts on the desert?” and “D’you suppose four thousand is too much if it’s a room with a balcony?” At latter of which, Jamie had gone slightly pale, but she had declared, albeit shakily, something along the lines of, “whatever makes you happy,” as she blanched. 

And, oh, how Dani had loved her for it.

As the temperate trees outside their window turn to evergreens and the cold trickles in from the mountains, it becomes abundantly clear that Dani has not brought them to the desert. Just one more stop until theirs, and Dani can’t help the flash of worry that streaks through her like lightning. 

She’s a perfectionist by nature. Or, at least, she was. Likes her ducks in a row, likes her trains on time and her schedules stuck to. These past months have been agony, each day a guessing game, no way to be sure what will come next. She understands the necessity, has tried to embrace it, even, but when the opportunity presented itself for her to plan something concrete, she leapt at it. 

Jamie had stepped back, understanding how badly Dani needed this. A part of her, she told Dani, late in the night, wrapped in blankets and sweet embraces, was simply glad Dani could bear to think of the future, even short term. 

When they left Bly, Dani would not allow herself to entertain the thought of next week, much less next year. But, as time slid past with no sign of her co-inhabitant, she relaxed, millimeter by millimeter, drop by drop, the tension slipped from her body. The paranoia, the jolt of terror upon rounding a corner, looking into a mirror, faded gradually each time she saw only herself, one eye brown, one blue. 

Each day with Jamie pervaded her idea of “normal” until that is what their life became. Normal. Waking up together, seeking out breakfast, exchanging quips before setting about their adventure of the day felt...normal. A remarkable concept for the woman whose notion of normal shattered with a pair of glasses. 

She sits across from the woman she thinks of as her best friend and marvels at how different her life was, even just a year ago, when the sentiment of a Christmas with someone she loves was unfathomable. She can only hope Jamie doesn’t hate it. 

Jamie, who is folding the tray up and sweeping crumbs into her palm to dispose of, only to realize she has nowhere to put them. She looks around for a moment, mumbles a _shit_ to herself, and stands to toss them in the bin in the restroom, while Dani watches affectionately. 

“What?” Jamie says, when she returns, gathering her things. 

“Didn’t think that one all the way through, did you?” Dani says, a little smug. It’s not really a question. 

“You said one more stop, yeah? Thought we should be ready.”

“Eager?”

“You’re having a go at me,” she rags, “Been building this up for a month. Can’t blame a woman for being a wee bit curious.” 

A conductor wanders past, loudly announcing the next stop. 

“Vermont, eh?” Jamie wraps the strap of her bag around her hand once, twice. She’s nervous, too, Dani realizes. The unpredictability has taken a toll on her, as well. Jamie, who woke up at five-thirty like clockwork, who tended to the same plants on the same grounds with the same tools, who saw the same five people each day. She likes routine, just as Dani does.

Perhaps, should they make it to the new year, it’s time to find a place to plant themselves. A place to call their own, if Jamie will have her. Somewhere to land. The thought sends a thrill through her.

Dani nods. “Trust me?” 

Jamie studies her. “Always.”

Dani collects her belongings from the overhead as the train slows to a creaking stop at the platform. They appear to be the only two disembarking. Unsurprising, really. From Dani’s research, the town’s population is in the low thousands. The station, a one-story, low building, is rustic, all exposed wood and lantern lighting fixtures.

“Clayton?” An older man calls as they step off the train. He leans against the hood of a town car emblazoned with the logo of his proprietor.

_Holiday Inn, Est. 1942_

“That’s me,” Dani chirps, meeting him halfway from the tracks, where he takes the bags from her arms with an amiable nod. Jamie follows him to the trunk -- boot, as she insists it’s called -- and drops her rucksack next to Dani’s, while Dani, herself, opens the door with a grand flourish. “M’lady.”

Jamie sends the driver a sidelong glance, but he slides into the front seat without a word. She accepts Dani’s invitation and turns to her once they settle a respectable distance apart on the back bench. The driver, Wallace, as he introduces himself, turns the key in the ignition. 

“So, the Holiday Inn?” Jamie prods. “Wasn’t aware the big hotels did shuttle services now.”

“Not a hotel,” Dani corrects.

“No?”

“An inn.”

“Ah, thanks, love, that clears it right up,” Jamie deadpans, but there’s no bite to her words. 

“Hold your horses,” Dani placates, “You’ll see soon enough.”

“Can’t feel my bloody hands, been holding these damn horses so long.”

Dani swats her across the stomach. “Quiet, you.” 

“Oi, ‘s no way to start a holiday, is it?”

“So, what brings you across the pond?” Wallace cuts in, the car rounding a bend on its climb up the mountain. “We don’t get many Brits around here.”

Jamie looks to Dani, a smirk curling upon her lips. “Not entirely sure, actually. You want to take this one, Poppins?”

“She hasn’t been stateside since we were kids,” Dani supplies. “I thought it might be a nice change of pace to spend the holidays with my cousin since it’s been so long.” Then, muttering to only Jamie, “She’s more sarcastic than I remember.”

“Oh, that’s lovely. You know, I haven’t been overseas since the war. Can’t bring myself to fly these days.” He continues to regale them with stories of his time in France, and they allow his tales to fill the silence for the duration of the ride, Dani offering polite interjections wherever appropriate. This is, in part, a way to keep Jamie from asking questions and spoiling the surprise mere moments from its fulfillment. 

They turn onto a narrow road lined with towering fir trees. Undisturbed snow from a recent bout of winter weather bows the branches. Jamie watches out the window, transfixed by the changing landscape. Dani cannot see her face. 

“Here we are,” Wallace says, with a note of pride. “She needs a little work, but she’s home.”

A house comes into sight as the car crests a hill, a three-story colonial with a broad front porch and white trim. Rocking chairs perch near the railings, and pale blue shutters frame tall windows. An old barn stands a little ways down, weather-worn, but charming. 

Dani hears a quick inhalation from beside her. Jamie’s gaze is fixed straight ahead. Dani’s stomach flips. 

Their car pulls up in front of the lodge, and Wallace grabs their bags from the rear. 

“We’ll be just a sec,” Dani says. 

Jamie’s back is to her as she turns in a slow circle, absorbing the scenery, until her eyes come to rest on Dani, who fidgets with the nail on her index finger. 

“So,” she begins, “I, um, I know we said we’d take it slow. But, you said snow could be nice, and you’ve done so much for me, and I just wanted to give you this one thing, but I get it if it’s too much or too cold. I just thought, you know, it might be nice since you said you saw _White Christmas_ as a kid that one time, and I know it was probably a joke, but--”

“Dani,” Jamie interrupts, with a saccharine laugh and the most gentle smile, “love, not to interrupt what was shaping up to be quite the eloquent speech, but this,” she gestures at the picturesque cabin and the trees and the mountainside, “this, you didn’t have to do all of this.” She looks around hesitantly, then takes one of Dani’s hands in her own. “I almost forgot I mentioned that story, but, apparently, you didn’t.”

Dani grins sheepishly. 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Jamie assures, “this is stunning. Everything I could’ve imagined. But, and I’m sure I’m starting to sound like a broken record, I would be just as happy spending Christmas in a shack under a bridge, so long as I’m sharing that shack with you.”

“I’d like to think this is at least a few steps up from a shack.”

“Oh, it most certainly is. Can’t say I’m mad about it, either. Quite fond of being warm, you know.”

“Speaking of," Dani segues, "inside?” 

“Please.” 

Dani drops her hand and leads Jamie up the porch steps, the old wood groaning underfoot. 

“Dani Clayton?” A portly woman steps out from behind a counter.

“Present,” Dani says brightly. 

“Anne,” the woman replies merrily, “I believe we spoke on the phone. Welcome, the both of you, to the Holiday Inn. Such a pleasure to host this little family reunion.”

Jamie appears perplexed for only a moment. “Jamie,” she greets, accepting the proffered handshake, “lovely to meet you.”

“Right, well, your room is up the stairs to the right, third door in.” Anne smooths her apron and passes Dani a key. “Wallace, my husband, should’ve dropped off any luggage, and please join us and the other guests for Christmas Eve dinner tonight, won’t you?”

“We’ll be there,” Dani promises. 

“So, cousins, then?” Jamie prompts once Dani has inserted the key into their lock. 

“I figured it was the easiest way to get around two women sleeping in the same room,” Dani says apologetically. “Family bonding, and all.”

“S'pose sisters wouldn’t have made sense with the accent.”

“We look nothing alike.” Dani shuts the door behind them. “Wouldn’t have been believable.” She flops unceremoniously onto one of the two double beds. The pale pink quilt wrinkles as Jamie sits, leaning back against the oak headboard. The windows are shut, but the off-white, lavender-printed curtains sway in an unfelt breeze, and a small fire crackles in the brick hearth. The sun is just beginning to set over the treetops, casting the room in a golden haze. 

“‘S nice here,” Jamie remarks. “Feels familiar.”

“I, um, I may have picked this place because it looks like the one in the movie. Had them fax me images of the rooms to find one--”

“That looks like the one Betty and Judy shared in _White Christmas_ ,” Jamie finishes, noting the white doors and gleaming brass knobs. 

“And, the inn, too. I tried to find out if we could go to the real one where they filmed, but turns out it was a set on a soundstage in California.” 

“You mean to tell me the painted backdrops were just,” she gasps for dramatic effect, causing Dani to laugh, “ _painted backdrops?_ ”

Dani groans. “In hindsight, it should’ve been more obvious, but at least I tried?”

“And an admirable effort it was,” Jamie chuckles, tugging Dani’s sleeve until she moves up the bed to lay her head on Jamie’s shoulder. “Looks just like the real thing, right down to my very own Judy.” She presses a kiss to the top of Dani’s head.

“Mm, I think you might just have a thing for blondes in turtlenecks.” 

“Seven-year-old Jamie might’ve been a wee bit taken with Vera-Ellen,” Jamie shrugs. “Who’s to say?” She continues, “Not a lot of pretty blondes for me to fall for back in those days.”

“Oh, well, as long as she’s pretty,” Dani teases.

“Happen to like my version much better, thank you. Terribly sorry, Vera, may you rest in peace; can’t hold a candle to Dani Clayton.” 

“It’s because I made one of your childhood dreams come true, isn’t it.”

“Hm,” Jamie muses, “proud of that one, are you?”

“Just a little.”

“It’s wonderful, love,” Jamie speaks softly, raking easy fingers through Dani’s hair. “Promise.” A pause. Her hand freezes for a moment, then resumes its steady path. “No one…ah, no one’s done anything like this for me before.”

Jamie’s life thus far has been far from perfect, as Dani knows from the pieces Jamie has shared. Bouncing from home to home as a child and landing in with the wrong crowd. A life in which stability and consistency did not exist, in which Jamie came to learn that companionship--love--is conditional and hinges upon her ability to provide. At the first sign that she could not be serviceable, in some way or another, she was cast aside. 

She learned to work with her hands. Plants cannot reject you, after all, and there are always cracks to be patched, leaky faucets to be repaired. To some, the work might feel tedious, but to Jamie, the monotony feels safe, providing her a sense of immutability in an otherwise turbulent life. 

And, as Jamie tells it, three years into her residence at Bly, _a goddamn American started traipsing about the garden, and everything went to shit._

More or less.

Dani thoroughly wraps herself around Jamie’s middle, eliminating any space that existed between them. Words fail her, but she hopes her message resonates all the same.

_Things are different, now._

***

When they eventually untangle themselves, it’s in favor of washing away the grime of travel with a hot shower. Dani unpacks as Jamie steps under the spray, rejecting the proposal to join, on account of one of them should make sure they’re on time for dinner. 

They’re still almost late, though, neither realizing that the barn they’d seen that afternoon doubled as the formal dining room, and they stumble in just in time to settle at a small table in the back of the packed hall. 

“Didn’t realize this was dinner and a show,” Jamie comments, observing the raised platform at the front of the room. 

“So, there may have been another reason I picked this place,” Dani explains in a whisper, so as not to irk the other patrons seated nearby. “They have this Christmas Eve tradition I read about in one of the travel books and--”

Music echoes through the space from a small pit orchestra set up to the side, and a spotlight illuminates the stage, where two figures are hidden by pale blue fans.

“They may, or may not,” Dani winces, face screwing up into a weak grimace, “kind of, invite local performance groups to do songs from the movie?” She bites her lip, peering at Jamie through one eye.

Jamie, for her part, appears equal parts enthralled and perturbed. “Gotta hand it to you, Poppins,” she says, mouth slightly agape, “You know how to keep to a theme.” 

Dani likes to think she hadn’t been chair of the prom committee in high school for nothing. “I really hope you don’t absolutely hate this movie, or this will be a very awkward dinner.”

“Wasn’t one of my favorites,” Jamie admits, leaning in, “but it certainly is now.” Under the cover of the tablecloth, she grips Dani’s hand and gives a discrete squeeze, Dani relaxing at her touch. “It’s very sweet,” Jamie murmurs, amused. The silver chain resting around her neck reflects the stage light as she turns her head. The number draws to a close, met with enthusiastic whooping from the jovially intoxicated crowd. 

A server delivers two plates, starter salads, to their table, jotting down polite requests for main courses and alcoholic beverages. 

By the finale number, Dani is warm and a bit wine-drunk. Her chair has migrated, over the course of the evening, to perch mere inches from Jamie’s. The gardener’s fingers move with the melody, eyes closed, an easy smile on her lips. She hums under her breath to match the vocalist crooning into the microphone. Dani commits the sight to memory. Jamie, here, draped in flickering shadows, untroubled by good intentions, chores that ought to be done, single-sided debts to be paid to no one and everyone. She is utterly beautiful. And Dani is utterly smitten. 

Perhaps it is the wine. Perhaps it is the security provided conveniently by the position of their tucked-away table. Dani parts the tablecloth and traces down Jamie’s slender wrist, their fingers slotting together like a key in a lock. She presses the briefest of kisses to Jamie’s shoulder. Jamie’s thumb runs over Dani’s knuckle. 

The antique oil lamps lining the walls glimmer warmly, and the final verse of the reimagined Irving Berlin classic fades into applause. 

It is snowing lightly when they wander back to the main building and into their room, faces flushed from the chill. Dani giggles, squirming away from Jamie pushing a cold nose into her neck. Jamie chases her, pins her to the door with a sound kiss. Dani cups the nape of her neck, holding her close. The flurries melted into her hair are cool against Dani’s palm.

“Good night?” Dani asks, pressing their foreheads together.

“Mm,” Jamie puffs against her lips, nuzzling closer “was perfectly splendid.”

“Was it, now?” Dani ribs coyly.

Jamie pulls back just far enough to meet a pair of heterochromatic eyes. “Dani,” her voice is insistent, sincere, “thank you.”

Dani feels herself blush under the intensity of Jamie’s stare. 

“I mean it.” Jamie’s index finger curls pointedly under Dani’s chin, tilting her head up, and something pulls low in Dani’s gut. “Thank you.”

Her lips are soft, pliant beneath Dani’s, speaking volumes in the silence. The snow continues to fall outside, blanketing the earth in mysticism the way only a new snow can. In here, though, the air burns. 

They break apart at their lungs’ insistence, chests heaving in unison, but they do not stray far, choosing instead to stay, wrapped up in each other, neither willing to allow the moment to pass. Jamie smells faintly of smoke and the inn’s shampoo. Her sweater stretches slightly in Dani’s insistent hands. 

“Don’t suppose you’ve got any mince pie and whiskey stashed away?” Jamie nods to the fireplace, lips kiss-swollen and hair mussed. 

Dani pauses, a little taken aback, and feeling a bit like someone’s just doused her in icy water. “Do I have...what?”

“Have you got any mince pie and whiskey?”

A flash of panic shoots through her, and she runs through a mental checklist. Is there something she missed? Something Jamie had said? 

“Um, should I?” 

“What else are you supposed to leave Father Christmas?”

“Milk and cookies?”

“Milk and cookies,” Jamie scoffs in a poor imitation of Dani’s Midwestern accent, “how’s that going to keep a person going all night? Blimey, man’s got to travel ‘round the world, you know.”

“ _Blimey,_ must’ve left them in my other suitcase,” Dani laments, outlining the fair curve of Jamie’s collarbone, enjoying the feel of her smooth skin.

“A real shame.” Jamie’s exhale is a note heavier.

Dani hums, “Bet I can make up for it.”

Jamie’s brows rise. “Oh, can you, now?”

“Mhm,” Dani affirms, with a sigh. Before she can go any further, though, her face splits into a yawn, and any semblance of seduction is instantly dashed.

Jamie laughs, stepping away and checking the grandfather clock that stands in the corner of the room. “Half eleven. Ought to get you to bed.” She leans in, with a wink, “Santa won’t come if you’re not asleep.”

“Oh, come on,” Dani says reproachfully, rolling her eyes in a manner not dissimilar to chiding Owen’s god-awful puns. She tugs Jamie toward the wardrobe. 

They slip between the sheets a short while later, lying close in the double bed, a perfect mess of legs and arms and contentment.

“‘S after midnight,” Jamie whispers, long after Dani thought her breathing had evened out. “Happy Christmas, love.”

Dani’s heart swells. “Merry Christmas, Jamie.”

***

Pale sunlight filters through the sheer curtains, coating the wallpaper in a serene glow. It’s rather poetic, Dani thinks, the way the light falls across Jamie’s sleeping face, highlighting the graceful tilt of her cheekbones, the button of her nose. Jamie looks ethereal in the morning, something Dani cannot truthfully claim about herself. 

She traces the high arch of Jamie’s brow with her thumb, and the woman’s eyes flutter open. She blinks, adjusting to the feeling of being awake, until her gaze settles upon Dani, propped up on her elbow. 

“G’morning, sleepyhead,” Dani coos.

“Been up long?” Jamie asks, voice low and sleep-rough. 

“Not long,” Dani replies. “Was getting hungry, though. Thought you might like to see what Santa brought you before breakfast.”

Jamie sits up slowly, a cheeky grin turning up the corners of her lips. “As though waking up next to you isn’t enough?”

“Sweet-talker,” Dani says, nudging her, “It’s small, I promise.” She rolls out of bed, grimacing when her bare feet make contact with chilly wood. She rummages through her backpack, the one Jamie knows not to investigate, and emerges with a small, rectangular package wrapped in brown paper. A red bow is stuck to the top, a little squished, but thankfully still intact. Dani crosses her legs on the bed.

“Now, hold on.” Jamie reaches for her rucksack, pulling out a newspaper-covered object. She sets it on the bed. If Dani didn’t know any better, she would think Jamie seems, almost, embarrassed. “Not much experience by way of gift-giving, I’m afraid.” She wrings her hands in her lap.

“Hey,” Dani soothes, “like you said. I’m happy just being with you, okay?” 

Jamie gives her a small smile. She huffs, “Look at me, being all gloomy on Christmas morning. C’mon then, open it up.”

Dani picks at the newsprint, unfolding each section delicately, deliberately. As she peels away the final layer, in her hands, she holds a small camera and a few rolls of film. She looks to Jamie, who studies her carefully, gauging Dani’s reaction.

“Might be silly, but I thought, you know, all this traveling, might be nice to collect a few momentos. Have something to look back on a few years down the line.”

Years. Years. _Years._ Dani allows herself to imagine them, together, somewhere, anywhere, on a couch, years from now, turning the pages of a photo album.

 _Yes,_ she decides, _years._

She must have some kind of expression on her face, because Jamie speaks. “Alright, there?” She says it casually, lightly, but underlying the words is a pool of worry. Worry that Jamie has overstepped, that she’s made a mistake, that Dani will cast her aside. 

“Years,” Dani says. “Years,” she repeats, high-pitched and carefree. She captures Jamie’s lips in a kiss, a celebration of time gone by, a promise of time yet to come.

“Take it you like it, then?”

 _Yes,_ Dani wants to scream, _God, yes. You’ve given me the future and there are not enough words in the world to explain how I feel about you._

She settles, instead, for inserting a roll of film and bringing the viewfinder to eye level, the lens pointed at Jamie, who still wears a small smile. She is illuminated by a halo of sunlight, catching wayward hairs in its rays. The shutter clicks, and it’s loud in the stillness of the morning. 

At the confused tilt of Jamie’s head, Dani attempts to clarify. “I wanted,” she explains, sounding only a little strangled, “the first memory to be of you, and me, here. In this moment.” She sighs, “Just us.”

Jamie’s face softens as she understands. Her hand snakes around Dani’s head, and she pulls her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

“Alright, your turn,” Dani decrees, when they separate, and Jamie accepts the offered gift. “Not as exciting as a camera, but I hope you like it.”

“Poppins,” Jamie breathes, staring at the unwrapped item on the bed as if afraid to touch it, “it’s beautiful.”

Dani had found the journal at a craft fair they visited in Chicago. The man said he’d been working with leather for twenty years. The book is bound in green leather, with shimmering gold trim around its border. On the front cover, a leaf, also covered in thin gold foil, is stamped into the material. Dani had been immediately drawn to it. 

“I think we had similar ideas,” Dani jokes. “I thought, since you’re always talking to yourself and coming up with new ideas, you might like a place to put everything in that brilliant brain of yours.”

“Feels like I’m saying this a lot lately,” Jamie chuckles, “but thank you, Dani. I love it.” 

As if on cue, Dani’s stomach makes itself known, and she cringes. 

“Right, how about breakfast?” Jamie inquires.

“I can wait,” Dani says, "The dining room closes at ten.” She glances at the clock. “We’ve got time.”

“For what?”

Jamie catches the mischievous glint in her eye. “Pretty sure I still have to atone for my grievous crime of depriving Santa of whiskey and mince pie. Unless, that is, you’ve decided to let me off the hook?” She gingerly places Jamie’s journal on the bedside table next to her camera. 

“Oh, you, my dear,” Jamie all but purrs, punctuating each word with a kiss, “are still very much on the hook.” 

***

Breakfast has all but ended by the time they make it downstairs. 

Dani decides that cold pancakes have never tasted so good.

**Author's Note:**

> jamie: snow could be nice
> 
> dani, already searching for weather machine schematics: let's not get ahead of ourselves
> 
> Merry Christmas to those who celebrate, by all means leave a comment if you enjoyed, and [feel free to chat or send me a prompt on tumblr](https://moonflowerlesbians.tumblr.com)!


End file.
